Fences
by Polychromatism
Summary: Just a drabble I came up with about Draco and Hermione. Can be interpreted as Dramione or not. Post-War. Inspired by the song 'Fences' by Paramore, but NOT a song fic. Any input is appreciated! Enjoy!


The lines were starting to blur for her. Everything hurt. Everything. Just getting up everyday was a challenge. The worst was having to face the presses and act like the heroin they made her out to be. To stand there and act like she wished the war didn't happen, to act like she wasn't in turmoil, to act like she knew she did right.

But she was Hermione Jean Granger. She had survived a war, she could survive this.

Ron and Harry had it easier, that was for sure. No moral qualms of if what they did was right. Or maybe they had put on a mask just like her. No, they never were good liars.

So maybe that's why on that very morning, Hermione Jean Granger almost accepted his offer. Maybe that's why as Draco Malfoy glided out of the room, robbed of his previous strut long ago, she felt a pull towards him. Maybe that's why she still regrets never knowing what he would've said.

But she was Hermione Jean Granger, and she was too smart for that. She was also too curious about that.

It had been a particularly hard day, somehow, everyone's favorite Golden Trio had been roped into an interview for a Wizarding Radio station. It wasn't bad because the interviewer called them liars, or accused them of things. No, that she could handle, as she had before. He praised them, called them War Heroes. But did he know the spells they cast? Imperio, and Harry, Crucio? They may not have killed people by way of spell, but they had been so close. She somehow wasn't ready in the slightest when asked a question, still caught up in these questions.

"So, Mrs. Granger, do you think that the losses outweighed the gain?" The debonaire man asked.

"I-I'm positive they did. There was a lot of hurt endured, but what we fought for was worth it." She had recovered, not yet shattering the illusion of perfection.

So when he intercepted her on the way out of the white walled bathroom, she was surprised.

"Nice save, Granger." His smooth voice said. "But I know you're lying."

"Malfoy, I don't have the slightest clue what you're talking about." She shook her head, trying to calm her questions.

"You can't get these things past me, Granger. I've been dealing with this my whole life. I know a lie from truth." He chuckled.

"I didn't know they were different for you." She sniffed indignantly.

"You don't know me." He said quietly. "But all mystery aside, I can help you. I do know how to deal with this, the camera flashes, the misconstrued words. I can teach you how to build fences. I can give you the ability to detach yourself from it all, become cold."

She sighed. "No."

"It's obvious that you're dying inside, the whole happy act is just you lying." He scoffed.

"So, you would make me like you? So dead that I couldn't feel? So cold that I couldn't care?" She questioned.

He smiled ruefully. "It's better than it seems. The pain dulls with the rest of life."

She swallowed, trying to moisten her throat. "No, pain is worth being alive. Feeling hurt is better than feeling nothing at all." She was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him.

He chuckled again. "Keep telling yourself that. Goodbye, 'War Hero'."

So, things were still blurry, except now maybe more-so. She could feel, but questioned if the pain was worth it. She found her parents, married Ron, everything was so seemingly perfect. Except for the nightmares that raised her pulse and shook her sanity. Getting up was easy, going to sleep wasn't. The press had backed off, found other things to cover. Yet people never forgot, and everything they said or did piled up.

But she was Hermione Jean Granger, she had survived a war, she could survive her life.

Harry and Ron were still fine, they were happy and hadn't put on a mask it seemed. Neither had nightmares, just dreams of sweet things, for they were stronger.

Everytime the war came up, or it's Anniversary, the day so many of their friends and families died, she was reminded of him. His offer. What if she had become cold, aloof, virtually untroubled? The offer was still so tempting and on the harder days she questioned why she didn't take it. Did anyone but him know she was lying? Did even her two best friends in the world ever learn she was torn? Or did no one care?

But she was Hermione Jean Granger, and she trusted those she loved. She knew right from wrong and she knew too much to become cold.

Fin


End file.
